Chapter 24: What Must Come Cannot Be Avoided

"Lucius, I heard you were in a car accident?"

Lucius Fox, President and CTO of Wayne Enterprises, received this greeting early in the morning. Though the tone was somewhat blunt, it still warmed his heart slightly.

Because the person who said it was Bruce Wayne.

"Mr. Wayne, I am perfectly fine. The incident last night was simply a... test of the vehicle's autonomous driving technology, and it caused me no harm."

"That’s good." Bruce Wayne’s voice over the phone seemed to be accompanied by the roar of a sports car engine and the sound of women giggling. "I thought my most capable CEO was going to take a leave of absence. I really don't want to manage Wayne Enterprises myself. God, spending even an hour in the office is torture."

"You don't need to worry, Mr. Wayne..."

*Beep—beep—*

The sudden disconnection cut Lucius off. Such an act was entirely consistent with people’s usual impression of Bruce Wayne.

The sole heir to the Wayne family, the de facto owner of Wayne Enterprises, the playboy of Gotham City, an unlearned and idle rich kid, a poor orphan who lost both parents—the luckiest and yet most unfortunate man in Gotham.

Master Wayne, that really is quite rude...

Lucius sighed, put his phone away, and began to examine the wreckage of the wheelchair in his laboratory.

It wasn't that the wheelchair possessed any particularly advanced technology; it was simply that its origins were a bit strange.

Through investigation, the identity of the wheelchair's rider had been confirmed. He was an ordinary thug from Gotham's East End with a long criminal record at the Gotham City Police Department, including robbery, theft, sexual assault, and even a homicide case. Given his personal level of knowledge and financial capability, it was basically impossible for him to have built such a thing himself.

What was interesting was that this obviously illegal, high-speed wheelchair had never appeared in Gotham before. According to information from Gotham’s surveillance network, it could only be confirmed that it had appeared on a fixed street route every night between 10:00 PM and 10:20 PM for a week, with its starting point apparently being a block in the Otisburg district.

As for how it ended up in the hands of this thug, and why it crashed directly into Lucius’s vehicle while it was conducting a full-path scan and autonomous driving test, that was something Lucius could not fathom.

Furthermore, to rule out the possibility of driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs, Lucius performed a test on the reassembled remains of the thug. The results showed a strange drug component in his system—very strange, as this substance was different from any known drug.

There was also a deformed thermos at the scene, with traces of strange blue flower petals left inside. The components were identical to the drug found in the thug’s system. According to current experimental results on lab mice, it appeared to be a new type of stimulant.

The mouse had remained in a state of high activity for ten hours, showing no signs of drowsiness, and its physical condition appeared to remain healthy.

Regardless of whether this was a new type of health supplement or a new kind of narcotic, as long as there was a possibility of it flowing into Gotham City on a large scale, it was a matter of significant concern for Lucius.

Although, given the current situation, there were already countless things more serious than this—such as the Riddler, Scarecrow, Penguin, Joker, and a whole host of other super-criminals, not to mention the "Roman," Carmine Falcone’s crime family, whom Batman was currently investigating.

The atrocities these people could pull off ranged from poison gas bombs capable of killing the entire city, nuclear warheads that could "nuke" the city, to city-wide shootouts and riots. Everyone was puzzled as to why the city of Gotham hadn't perished yet.

In Lucius's view, this was perhaps because Batman was always there to serve as a safety net; after all, he could always round them all up and throw them back into prison overnight.

Returning to the present situation, he had extracted the DNA from the rim of the cup. There were only two human samples: one from the wheelchair-riding thug, and the other did not find a match in the police department’s DNA database.

"Perhaps I should find an opportunity to go to that area and ask around. If I’m lucky, maybe this matter won't require Batman to investigate it personally." Lucius looked at the energetic little mouse, deep in thought.

...

"Hey, Ma Zhaodi."

Just as Ma Zhaodi stepped out of a taxi and was about to walk into a restaurant, he heard a taunt from the owner of a nearby newsstand: "How come you aren't in your precious wheelchair today?"

"It got stolen." He sighed before walking over. "Give me a newspaper. Do you have any self-defense gear for sale?"

"Fresh stock. Berettas, Colts, and P229s. You didn't bring a gun when you went out today? That’s not very wise."

"I brought one, but I suddenly thought it wouldn't hurt to buy another as a backup—wait, a P229? German-made?"

"Gotham-made," the newsstand owner chuckled. "Don't you want something with a bit more kick?"

"I don't want to die because of a shoddily made bootleg pistol. Besides, I don't have much money on me right now."

"You’re underestimating Gotham, kid," the newsstand owner smirked. "Locally made Colt Python. Choose your own parts; just bring the money tomorrow. If the gun malfunctions, I’ll pay you triple."

"If I’m alive to come back and find you, will triple be enough to redeem your life?"

"Hehehe, I have authentic ones too, but they aren't cheap. How about we play a game? My guns have a minimum price and a maximum price; you can choose one yourself." The owner handed over the gun. "If the gun has a major problem on the spot that could cost you your head—like exploding in your hand or falling apart—I’ll give you your money back immediately. Ammo costs are separate."

Damn, so *that* was his main business.

"Those are the rules. It’s a willing trade. Once the price is set and the money and goods are exchanged, don't come looking for me if there are problems later. How about it?"

Ma Zhaodi raised an eyebrow and shouted to the owner of the food cart next door: "Hey! Val!"

The owner, hands moving busily, looked up and asked, "What is it?"

"How many years has he been doing this here?"

"Huh? At least two years."

Ma Zhaodi turned back. "Give me a Beretta and a Colt revolver."

"Hehehe, thanks for your patronage."

...

*Ding-ding-ding—*

While eating lunch, Ma Zhaodi instinctively picked up his phone. It displayed an unfamiliar number. After thinking for a few seconds and confirming that he hadn't leaked his number to anyone other than his boss, his supervisor, and the Drakes, an ominous feeling rose in his heart.

Rather than believing in the coincidence of "the Drakes changing their phone number," he was more inclined to believe that he was being targeted by someone.

Could it be Clinton? But where would he get his phone number? He probably couldn't have found it on his own.

Could it be that the stolen wheelchair had caused trouble, and they had tracked it back to him?

Was the Gotham City Police Department really that efficient?

He went ahead and answered the phone.